


The Night We Met

by greyzone



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV), Thirteen Reasons Why - Jay Asher
Genre: F/M, Romance, clay and hannah, clayxhannah, hannah and clay, hannahxclay, night we met, thirteen reasons why - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 02:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15062645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyzone/pseuds/greyzone
Summary: Hannah visits Clay one last time to revisit the night they met.





	The Night We Met

“You didn’t think I would just miss it, did you?” I recognized that voice. I wish that I didn’t. Did her funeral mean nothing? What more could she possibly expect from me?  
I peeled my eyes open and when I saw her in the weak moonlight streaming through my blinds, I almost threw up. That navy blue dress, her hair long and wild again, a corsage on one wrist hiding the carnage of her other.   
“Hannah, stop.” I heard my voice say the words, but I couldn’t remember speaking them. “It doesn’t work like this. You didn’t come to the dance, there’s nothing I can do about it now.”  
“But it was our song,” she replied, the left corner of her lips tinging upward even though her eyes held unfathomable depths of sadness. “I was surprised you even remembered.”  
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped, finally tossing the covers from my legs. I can’t remember when I started sleeping in boxers instead of pajama pants. When I couldn’t sleep through the night without waking up in a cold sweat. Maybe then. “Leave me alone.”  
She rose then, looking as real and tangible as my own body. “Helmet,” she began, and I had to press my fist against my mouth to silence the sob that she caused. “I don’t know why you’re so sad all the time, and then when I’m here, you’re angry.”  
“Of course you wouldn’t understand,” I spat, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes as if it would make the vertical gashes on her wrists disappear. Horizontal to hurt, vertical to kill. “You know what you did. You don’t get to do something like that and then come back and expect me to welcome you with open arms.”  
She turned from me and glided to my laptop, then entered the password even though I’d never told her what it was. I couldn’t breathe when she bent over and started to type. Best ass of the sophomore class. I didn’t deserve her. None of us did.   
“Hannah -” Her name felt heavy in my mouth. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say to her, I just knew that I needed to use that name one more time.   
“If you won’t do it for yourself, at least do it for me,” she replied as the first chords started to echo around my room. “Dance with me, Clay.”  
I am not the only traveler who has not repaid his debt. “Turn it off, you’ll freak out my parents if they hear it playing this late at night. I can’t have them storming in here thinking I’m ready to off myself.”  
She flinched at my words, and I wish I felt bad. I wanted her to hurt like she hurt us. Did I? Hadn’t she hurt enough?   
“I’m not dancing with you,” I whispered, the words barely coming out clear. “I’m not. That’s done, Hannah, we left it behind. Can I even touch you?”  
She extended her left hand, the one with the white flowers tied to it. They didn’t do a good enough job of hiding the gashes that stained them red. Her nails were still painted a dark blue, and I hated the way they were painted with so much care right next to the wrists that she mauled.   
“Try it,” she whispered.   
She was cold, cool, like the taste of peppermint. A trick to the brain. “I can’t, Hannah,” I whispered, my voice cracking.   
I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. “I never had any of you,” I added.  
“You could have,” she responded, looking at me directly in the eye as if she had the right. “I would’ve let you.”  
“What are you even talking about? Do you not remember what happened when we tried to kiss?” She pulled back at that and her hand dropped back to her side.  
She tried to speak a few times before the words actually came out. “You’ve listened to those tapes and sat in that courtroom and that’s still how you feel about it.”  
“Sometimes the truth can’t change our feelings, Hannah,” I bit. The words sounded harsher than I meant them to. “You should know that better than anyone.”  
That fucking song just kept right on playing as she stood there and stared at me, lips slightly parted in shock. “What do you want, Clay?” She finally whispered. “I’m here. I don’t understand why you reject me like this.”  
“This doesn’t work,” I snapped back. “You don’t get to just leave people who loved you and cared about you and then come back and ask them do dance with you.”  
“Then do it for me.” Her words overlapped mine. “You’re willing to be beaten by a pulp to get a rape confession for me but you can’t dance?”  
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stand to look at her, look at those wrists. “Fine,” I finally said. “Start it over. If I have to do this I’m going to have the whole song.”  
She finally cracked a smile again. I couldn’t remember to breathe when I was looking at that smile. “Come here.”  
I avoided her gaze as I rested my hands on her waist. If I closed my eyes and focused on the feeling of her and the sound of that song, it was almost like we were back. Back when she was alive, back when I thought I might have a chance with her. It seemed so far away.   
“I know how all those other boys were touching you,” I murmured. I spent so much time weighing my words with her, trying to come across as cool, approachable, friendly, definitely not in love with her. I wasted so much time weighing my words with her. I didn’t have any more time to waste. “At the dance.”  
And yet, she understood. “I know. I appreciated that. Isn’t that sad, though? That I was thankful you didn’t touch my ass, that you acted like a sensible human being?”  
“The last thing I want to talk about is what other boys did to you,” I murmured into her hair that somehow smelled like nothing. It was a stabbing reminder that she wasn’t real. “That’s what I’ve been doing for months, and I’ve done it without you. For you.”  
“My hero.” Her lips tinged upward in a smile, but it made my stomach curdle.   
So I retreated. “I can’t keep riding this, Hannah.” My hands tightened into fists and unclenched again. God, I wanted to touch her again.   
“You’re not riding anything.” She closed the distance between us again and her hands were under the hem of my t-shirt, her touch nothing more than a cool whisper on my skin. My nerves scarcely had time to register the feeling when her lips were against mine.   
I was so tired. So tired that it shocked me when my body reacted to her like it was supposed to. Like it didn’t do for Sky when I wanted it to. “You’re just going to stop.” I knew it was unfair. But I was so tired of being fair.   
“I’m not. I have nothing to lose this time,” she retorted as she peeled my shirt off and tossed it into the corner. “Now touch me.”  
Something pulled in my stomach and she guided my hands to her hips. We transitioned to my bed as one unit, our lips exploring each other’s so we didn’t feel the pressure to spill words that were desperate to escape.   
She felt so real. Why did she smell like nothing? Why did she taste like pure water?   
All speculation vanished when she sat back and unzipped the dress. She had on a black strapless bra, and every breath she took caused her breasts to rise from the fabric. She was breathing. She was taking in oxygen, and her body was on top of mine.  
I scarcely had time to commit that look to my memory when she pushed me back and her lips were on mine again. I let her fumble with my belt, unhook her own bra, kick her own underwear to the side. She deserved control, even if it was a lie. I didn’t even look, out of respect for her.   
And then she whispered, “Look at me.” Her voice raised goosebumps on my arms and her lips brushed against the underside of my jaw.  
I opened my eyes and then wished I hadn’t.   
Weak moonlight steamed in through my blinds, casting bars of white and black on her smooth skin. It was better than my wildest fantasies, better than anything I’d imagined when picturing what lied under her work uniform. Miles and miles of skin that told the tale of a life worth living, freckles and stretch marks and her ribs contracting with each labored breath.  
Her thighs tightened around mine and I caught her hand, but that fucking vertical scar was illuminated and so close to my face bile rose in my throat. “Get off me,” I gasped. “You’re not real. Get off me.”  
For a moment, she looked at me like she used to look at Bryce.  
And then she was gone.


End file.
